Never leaving home in your life is like never once falling in love, something greatly to be regretted. Think of all the songs you could never sing, all the poetry you would be unable to appreciate, all the writings whose subtlety you could never grasp.

In the modern world it is essential to travel away from home at least once, ideally to somewhere across the seas. Those from the northern hemisphere head for the southern, those from the east go west. Failing that one should still cross a few borders, to a place where climate and scenery are different from those one knows, or at the very least spend time in some area a few hours distant by train or bus.

I often wonder whether there is not some kind of homesickness stimulant stored in the human body, that fortifies us when released into the bloodstream. In history, General Sun Wu was held captive as a shepherd on the steppes for years, and the defeated king Kou Chien forced himself to taste gall every morning until able to reclaim his country--both were sustained by the strength of their longing for home. If there is such a chemical in the body, then different people respond in different ways to it. Some are inspired to bitter endurance of self-imposed hardship, while for others it is like "eating sugar cane from the top down": the longer it goes on the sweeter it tastes.

The true adepts are those who have mastered a certain "art" of homesickness, which is both individual, and shared in common. When applied to writing it is a craft with almost magical effect. The faintest evocation of one's native place can render rigid writing soft, transform pain into happiness, and give spark to what seemed insipid. It is not even necessary to put oneself out seeking profound truth and inspiration, or choosing complex phrasing. Just a few simple sentences can arouse the desired response from readers.

"Hometown, the place where I grew up." "I left home young and return old." "The moon shines more brightly in my hometown." "I raise my eyes to the moon, then lower them and think of home."

Of course with lines such as these you have to get in quick, or they will all be used up first by others.

The art of homesickness can be considered a method of hypnosis. In the stillness of night, whether there is a bright starry sky or a dark blanket of drizzle outside, you can dim the light, put on soft music for background and fix yourself a drink. An analyst sits behind you quietly counting back through the years. With closed eyes you seem to drift free, to five, ten, twenty years before. Back to childhood, aimlessly trailing the back roads of your hometown.

The art itself requires a pure mastery of technique. Before departing, you must excel in departure; while away, excel in longing for home; lastly, excel in returning home. Leaving, longing and returning--the triple motif of homesickness, movements which must be played at the perfect pace if the right effect is to be achieved.

Time and place of departure are all-important. An autumn night; a night of moonlight or rain or stars; even a plain dark night--any such is suitable. Not so the break of dawn (best for sudden attack) or the middle of the day (a time for combat). Should you insist on leaving at an inappropriate time, your mind may draw a blank when later it comes to looking back on the occasion.

As to place, the best departures occur at the quay side or from a platform. Also perhaps on a track by the woods or under overhanging rocks. The airport, it should be said, is not a good place for a memorable departure. The lighting is too stark and the roof too high. There are too many pillars and too much space. It is rare that one hears poems or songs composed in recollection of tearful partings made at the airport.

Timing is the key to a successful return, one that is neither too late nor too early. Coming back too early may surprise other people, so it is inadvisable to return home before they have begun to ask for you, or before your luggage is packed and ready, or (most of all) before you have made your mark wherever it is you were. A return that is too late on the other hand may be cause for regret. Maybe you want to return in order to lecture, to invest, or to stand for election. But wait too long and the opportunity is lost--the classes have finished, the factory is built, or the elections are over.

Those who are adept in the art of homesickness go away when the time is ripe, miss home when the occasion arises, and return home when they know they should.